Venus
by BuymeBalenciaga
Summary: Known in equal parts for their beauty, and for their carnivorous appetite. They will lure their prey with the promise of nectar before interlocking their teeth to capture the prey. Once caught, the prey will dissolve and their nutrients will be absorbed. Then, the cycle begins anew. SI/OC-ish
1. Prologue

Warnings: None

* * *

 **Venus**

Prologue: This is Who You Are

* * *

 ** _Dionaea Muscipula_**

 _Known in equal parts for their beauty and for their carnivorous appetite,_

 _They will lure their prey with the promise of nectar before interlocking their teeth to capture the prey._

 _Once caught, the prey will dissolve, and their nutrients will be absorbed._

 _Then, the cycle begins anew._

xxx

When Chiasa wakes, it is amidst a shroud of sunlit haze, under a layer of leaves. She is held in the rigid and cold arms of a dead body, with only the vague knowledge of her name; Chiasa.

A large canopy of moss and roots curtain above and below her. It cradles the two bodies as a mother would and breathes sleep onto two wayward babes. Wrought with fright, one rises.

Chiasa stares at the dusty and murky red staining the silken gold garments of the deceased. A pool of flowers booms beneath her and a stream of auburn curls fanned out behind the dead woman, decorated by jade ornaments and pearl garnishes they frame a perfectly small lifeless face and draws Chiasa's eyes to the woman's poised cold lips.

'What a lovely woman.' Chiasa finds herself thinking.

There is an aching buzz at the back of her conscious that tells her she should feel something; horror, grief, sadness. So as much as she yearns to find something inside of her to recognize the woman, to _feel_ for the woman who had held her so closely in her arms until death she could only register disappointment at her own apathy.

So, when Chiasa makes he way out of the whimsical sanctuary of the golden woman, it is only out of civility, respect for the dead, does she leave behind a bouquet of yellow and blue weeds for the woman who might have once meant something to her.

'There is nothing left for me here.'

'I won't find my answers by staying.'

These are thoughts she has as the forest pulls her away into the dark. This is that last time she thinks of the woman for a while.

xxx

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 **A/N:** Long time reader, first time writer. I'm trying to give the whole OC/SI angle a _horrific_ twist by bringing it back to the fanfiction "classics". Which may be bad, may be good, we'll see. I'm normally used to some more poetic stuff so readers will see a lot of dramatic or romantic elements here and there so I hope you all have fun with that.

I am my own beta, so we'll also see how that turns out. This fic is 100% for fun and to engage the brain so I'm not too worried about the dire grammar issues unless I suddenly become a lot more invested. Ideally, I'll update every weekend and with more substance than this little introductory piece, but in the meantime, I hope you've enjoyed this introductory glimpse.

 **xx BB**


	2. Human Nature

Warnings: Descriptions of violence, gore, and starvation. Maybe a bit of blasphemy depending on your religious views.

* * *

 **Venus**

Chapter One: Human Nature

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"Human emotions are a gift from our animal ancestors.

Cruelty is a gift humanity has given itself." – NBC, Hannibal Lecter

xxx

The forest is beautiful. Nature normally is, Chiasa finds. But there's something god-awful about hiking endlessly through the woods. She wanders with vague breaks for the whole first day.

Her robes are needlessly extravagant and traditional to the point that even with an armful of the robes there would be excess fabric trailing at her feet.

Her outfit consists of many layers. An outer layer, stiff and heavily embroidered with beads and metallic thread. A second, silver-pearlescent garb that that is thick and almost silk-like providing insulation. The third was what appeared to be a traditional underlayer which was light and airy. It's finally followed by minimal chest wraps and underwear.

Altogether the layers drag and weigh behind her, gathering sticks and rocks and dirt.

She does what any sensible person would and sheds the outer layer. There's a small amount of regret at leaving behind such a beautiful garb. So, she does her best to fold the robe into a manageable pile and places onto a lower branch of a large tree. Promising that if she ever had the chance to, to come back to find it.

She did the same earlier, with the silver headpieces she woke up wearing. It had the most stunning craftsmanship, but she also knows this isn't the place. She discards most of it, choosing to keep three straight prongs that were relatively sharp tucked with her chest bindings. Either as jewellery to be bartered off, or to be used as impromptu weapons should the need arises.

Rid of some of the weight, Chiasa is still left with a very long robe. She hopes that it will be enough to keep her warm at night.

It is, if only barely. She huddles at the base of a tree, laid with some grass, and folds the tail end of the robe back over to cover like a small blanket. The quality of the fabric is good, and the night could be considered warm.

It's like camping she thinks. Her thoughts slip back into moments in her past where she spent summer nights swaddled in a fleece and thermal cocoon. Warm by the fire and atop of a foam bed, lying under the stars, as the cold air nips at her nose sticking out from her strange blanket.

It's a strange thought, but when she tries to pursue the memory she finds herself left with the feeling of chasing a dream; a familiar feeling with forgotten reasons.

xxx

The next morning reminds her of her human needs. She's lucky enough to find some plants from the forest to eat and a flowing river to drink from. The river is delicate, clandestine, and refreshing on a warm day like this.

She rinses her face and washes her feet, picking the berries lightly. It's nice.

It's nice until those berries and plants she eats come back to life in a mess of sweat and stomach acid as she hurls them out of her body.

Bad berries. Is her first thought.

She tries again with other plants, other fruits, at small amounts before hurling them out of her body again a few hours later. Her good mood is ruined as the day drags forth and she goes to bed exhausted and hungry.

It's colder the next morning, and she feels twice as bad compared to yesterday and she resolves to find something to eat today.

In the evening she pants from her position crouched against a tree with one hand holding her hair back and another wiping the saliva from her mouth.

No good.

She tries again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

xxx

Its the second week of isolation in the woods and Chiasa starts to believe she's the only human left in the world.

The past week had her running like an animal, shivering in the woods and throwing up her stomach acid. While water is not an issue – so long as she continues to follow the stream – there's still the ongoing issue that nothing could be considered digestible food for Chiasa.

She watches some animals eat the same plants she does with ease and feels desperately envious. She considers eating the squirrels but has no means of catching any animals nearby, them being far too fast and her, having no materials for traps.

While the elements have been kind, her declining health has made the nights harder to bear and has her breathless every morning. Her previous thoughts of ever returning to that extravagant outer robe are crumbled to pieces as she knows she has travelled much too far to ever figure a way back to her start and she regrets not having that extra layer now.

Then, the straps of Chiasa's sandal finally snap, and with it so does Chiasa.

Honestly, it isn't unexpected. She has been trekking through difficult terrain for perhaps a week now and in the past three days, it had been loose. Often finding herself adjusting the strap or choosing to allow her foot slip out of place. Yet, it still catches her off guard when the strap finally gives, and she finds herself hurtling to the ground.

It's as if she doesn't register it at first. Caught on her hands in knees, she turns to stare vacantly at the pale purple sash which had popped right out of the base of the sole. She looks at the dirty threadbare socks on her feet, dotted with holes and spots of blood. She looks back at the sandal. Chiasa stares, and she stares, expecting something to happen, and when nothing does she decides to reach out for the broken right shoe to examine.

Turning the shoe over and around, picking at the sash, the light twisting and pinching devolve into erratic shaking when she realizes it's unsalvageable.

Her expression is still frightfully still but her frustration makes itself known with other means.

She holds the shoe to her chest and gradually folds right over herself, with her head bowed into the dirt and her hair covering her face. Only then does her expression slip. She rocks back in forth on her knees, quivering, she lets out a high keening sound and remains in her position for the night.

xxx

She's dying. Her present thought announces. It isn't as though she doesn't already know this, but it the vague certainty that resounds. She haunts the area between the bank of the river and the edge of the forest. Left and right, forward and forward. It's surprising how she's still alive.

Water isn't cutting the hunger any longer. If nothing else, it's icy temperature feels as though it burns along the lining of her stomach.

She feels weak, she feels delusional, she considers how awful it is to die like this; ignorant of her past, of her existence.

Death. A warm welcome into a cold place. Her strange memory provides again. A part of her wonders how she has come by this information. Perhaps this is what comes to be when one nears the end of their life. Aged, tired, and entirely consumed.

It feels as though death has been ghosting her shoulder for many years now.

 _Longer._ The memory provides.

Perhaps all her life.

 _Longer._ The memory repeats.

Perhaps, since before her birth.

 _Longer._

xxx

Chiasa has found something, a racoon, struggling feebly from some thin sort of threads in a trap off the branch of a tree.

It's rather pathetic looking. Dirty looking, filthy. The lacklustre fur and dull eyes suggest it has been left stranded for some time now.

It's dying.

But as it weakly strains against the wires, despite the harsh cuts digging into it's skin and she knows that it wants to live.

It looks just like her.

She untangles the piece of string that had been caught on the branch. And carefully, moves the animal to the rocks by the river without touching it. It swings gently until it's set onto the flat surface of a boulder.

She looks at the racoon for some time as it lay there, still wrapped in its bindings, waiting as her fingers brush against her wrappings. As for what she's waiting for, she doesn't know.

The racoon meanwhile, stares weakly back at her. It stares, and it stares, expecting her to do something.

She could free it. This is its home after all, and she likes to believe that if she were to cut the animal loose, it'd live a long happy life. But, now…

 _It looks just like you._ That wretched voice says again. And something about that voice just sounds as though it's goading her, feeding her.

Her hands leave her chest and instead move to find a heavy stone, roughly the size of a man's head. Heaving it up to her chin with both hands, she locks gazes with the creature once more, watches as it's struggling come back to life, and brings it down atop of its head.

xxx

" _Bacteria grows the quickest between four to fifty degrees Celsius and can double in as soon as twenty minutes. There are of course disease and parasites to worry about, but the risks of those are about equal to the raw beef we eat. So, whenever you ever choose to take a bite out of an animal raw, your chances are better if you do so immediately upon its death."_

Chiasa spends the first five minutes just ripping the racoon apart from its open skull. She won't eat the brain, it's too risky, something tells her

 _"_ _Focus on the liver and the heart. It's all that really matters."_

She throws out the skull and continues to dig. The blood is warm, and the throat is small, it's entire body weak, slight, malleable. She has almost both her hands completely enveloped inside the creature's flesh as she reaches around the spine of its neck, down the throat, and right next to the ribcage to tear open the flesh and fur for better access, it's slippery, but by keeping part of her grip on the fur she finds that it helps. As she does, she can feel the body cooling.

Before she can find her way to the animal's heart, she was reckless and rips away a chunk of meat in her hand. A piece of its flesh, complete with a tuft of viscera caked fur attached to it.

Without much of a thought, she bites off the red of the flesh before tossing the skin and hair away.

Chiasa had been hungry for days now, but it felt as though that bit of meat had unleashed something primal in her – _oh god she feels warm for the first time in days –_ as she rips away into the rest of the animal.

She spends the next fifteen minutes feasting on the creature.

Ten of those final minutes sobbing and choking down her meal.

It isn't until well after the twenty minutes, kneeling on the ground, drenched in red, does she realize she's begun muttering something under her breath at some point. Something out of habit perhaps, because try as she might she can't remember when she started or what she has been saying, but just manages to catch her final words.

 _"_ _Merciful God, please take pity on this soul._

 _And grant him forgiveness in his death._

 _Might your watchful eye guide my faithful hand,_

 _And may your loving spirit tame this wicked heart."_

* * *

 **A/N:** It's been exactly a week since I first posted this story and since then I have become very aware of the gruesome amount of time it takes to put out a chapter. So, in all honesty, it's not my best work, but I've also learned that not much can ever be considered "good enough" and that this should be more a practice of just putting something out on the table, even if it isn't perfect. In the meantime, as I'm a rushing mess with no proofreader, please don't hesitate to leave a message about any errors I've might have made in terms of grammar or consistency.

On a side note, I watched Hereditary recently (boy, do I have some new inspiration for this fic). It is a beautiful movie; artistic, symbolic, and unsettling. Would highly recommend.

 **xx BB**


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